Saturday, December 25, 2010

I feel like George Bailey as his house suddenly filled with friends cheerfully dumping piles of money on the kitchen table.

Last week I told the story of the tragedy in my daughter's young family, and how circumstances just kept getting worse for them right before Christmas. I took a chance and asked you readers if you wouldn't mind contributing a couple of bucks apiece to help this family pay for their son's burial costs and hopefully even have a bit left over to pay for some of their own immediate needs.

So far we have received hundreds of responses to that request for two dollars, with some readers sending in substantially more. After only seven days, Amy and her little family have received from my readers an astonishing two thousand and seven dollars!

I posted that plea at five minutes to midnight on Friday the 17th, and when I got up six hours later, I was astonished to see that donations were already coming in through Paypal. By the end of that day, the contributions we were receiving through Paypal alone had totaled over twelve hundred dollars!

When I phoned Amy to tell her the news, I heard her go suddenly quiet. She was crying. We both were. We couldn't believe this was happening. Amy's family was suddenly and miraculously pulled from the abyss.

Although the primary reason for asking for this money was to pay the burial costs for their recently murdered son, I insisted that Tommy and Amy take the first thousand and use it for the family's immediate expenses. They fixed the car, bought some food, and paid the gas bill so they could stop heating their apartment by leaving on the electric oven at night.

Amy also bought something special just in time for Christmas: a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. It's scrawny and pathetic and only two feet tall, and it has one red ornament hanging from one lonely branch. If there are mongrels in the tree world, this tree is it.

But don't feel sorry for her family; this is the Christmas tree she wanted. I mean she really wanted it. I don't know if you've seen this thing, but it's actually marketed as the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, right down to the inclusion of that one red bulb. Even better, by the time she bought it, the tree had been marked down to just $3.99. So the family finally got the tree Amy had wanted that reflected the dismal circumstances they found themselves in this year.

My daughter has a delightful sense of the ironic.

Amy is determined to thank each of you personally, but there were many hundreds of contributors, so I hope you'll be patient if you don't hear from her right away. Some readers added personal notes, and others kindly re-posted that blog entry on their own Facebook pages and other forums so their friends would have the opportunity to assist also. For all of this I am eternally grateful. The entry has only been up for seven days, and if history is any indicator, again as many readers as we had in those days will come on here in the next two weeks. I have great hope that we can get Tommy's little family completely out of the woods by then.

You all have made a tremendous difference in the lives of that family. I can't begin to express how I feel toward you. Your astonishing generosity has simply floored me. Amy is not the only one who has wept at this astonishing display of love.

(I notice I have used the word "astonishing" a lot here so far. It's the word that keeps coming to mind. I'm just so dang astonished!)

Something I've learned from this experience is how many wonderful friends I have out there who I have never met. I began this blog just under two years ago to share my fairly recent discovery that love truly is the basis of the gospel of Christ. It may seem trite and obvious to some, but I never really grasped the importance of unconditional love until just about four years ago (I'm slower than most). Heretofore I had seen my religion as primarily one of strict rules and procedures, and I approved of that view. Then after a lifetime of devotion and obedience to the Church, I finally got around to experiencing "a mighty change." I had God all wrong. It wasn't obedience he wanted out of me, it was kindness.

One of the reasons I began this blog was from a desire to share my discoveries with others who were still stuck in that Pharisaical brand of Mormonism I had grown up believing in, the one represented by a mantra for obedience rather than what Restoration Theology was meant to be: a jumping off point leading to higher knowledge, which leads in turn to a true liberation of the soul. The beginning of that liberation comes from truly grasping the meaning of unconditional love.

This past week I got a powerful new lesson in unconditional. Not only have so many been willing to reach out with love to a young family in need that they didn't even know, but something else occurred here that has touched my heart in a profound way.

I've just learned I have many, many friends out there. You'll have to excuse me for being surprised, but the fact is, almost nobody I know personally reads this blog or cares much for anything I might have to say; No one in my current ward, no one in my former ward, and no one in the nearby ward I lived in for almost fifteen years. Many of these fine people are Facebook friends. They are aware that I write a blog about Mormon issues, but they won't read it. Some of the things I write about here make them uncomfortable, so they choose to not come back.

From some of the notes and messages accompanying the donations, I am beginning to realize that many of you donated to my daughter because in some inexplicable way you are actually honoring me. I wish I could come up with a way to say that so it sounded more humble, but there it is. I've learned I have thousands of true friends I didn't know about, strangers who value what I have to say and who would come to my rescue at the drop of a hat. When someone I hadn't known re-posted last week's entry on another Facebook site, several comments immediately appeared announcing they were contributing. Another someone I didn't know named Chris said "Done and done. His blog alone is worth the money."

That comment meant the world to me, and many have sent messages of appreciation echoing that sentiment these past days. Your friendship means the world to me. What means the most is your unconditional love, not only for me but for my daughter and her family; parents and kids you never met and probably never will meet. Yet you dropped everything and sent money at a time of year when I know money is short for everyone.

I feel like George Bailey as his house suddenly filled with friends cheerfully dumping piles of money on the kitchen table.

Last week I told the story of the tragedy in my daughter's young family, and how circumstances just kept getting worse for them right before Christmas. I took a chance and asked you readers if you wouldn't mind contributing a couple of bucks apiece to help this family pay for their son's burial costs and hopefully even have a bit left over to pay for some of their own immediate needs.

So far we have received hundreds of responses to that request for two dollars, with some readers sending in substantially more. After only seven days, Amy and her little family have received from my readers an astonishing two thousand and seven dollars!

I posted that plea at five minutes to midnight on Friday the 17th, and when I got up six hours later, I was astonished to see that donations were already coming in through Paypal. By the end of that day, the contributions we were receiving through Paypal alone had totaled over twelve hundred dollars!

When I phoned Amy to tell her the news, I heard her go suddenly quiet. She was crying. We both were. We couldn't believe this was happening. Amy's family was suddenly and miraculously pulled from the abyss.

Although the primary reason for asking for this money was to pay the burial costs for their recently murdered son, I insisted that Tommy and Amy take the first thousand and use it for the family's immediate expenses. They fixed the car, bought some food, and paid the gas bill so they could stop heating their apartment by leaving on the electric oven at night.

Amy also bought something special just in time for Christmas: a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. It's scrawny and pathetic and only two feet tall, and it has one red ornament hanging from one lonely branch. If there are mongrels in the tree world, this tree is it.

But don't feel sorry for her family; this is the Christmas tree she wanted. I mean she really wanted it. I don't know if you've seen this thing, but it's actually marketed as the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, right down to the inclusion of that one red bulb. Even better, by the time she bought it, the tree had been marked down to just $3.99. So the family finally got the tree Amy had wanted that reflected the dismal circumstances they found themselves in this year.

My daughter has a delightful sense of the ironic.

Amy is determined to thank each of you personally, but there were many hundreds of contributors, so I hope you'll be patient if you don't hear from her right away. Some readers added personal notes, and others kindly re-posted that blog entry on their own Facebook pages and other forums so their friends would have the opportunity to assist also. For all of this I am eternally grateful. The entry has only been up for seven days, and if history is any indicator, again as many readers as we had in those days will come on here in the next two weeks. I have great hope that we can get Tommy's little family completely out of the woods by then.

You all have made a tremendous difference in the lives of that family. I can't begin to express how I feel toward you. Your astonishing generosity has simply floored me. Amy is not the only one who has wept at this astonishing display of love.

(I notice I have used the word "astonishing" a lot here so far. It's the word that keeps coming to mind. I'm just so dang astonished!)

Something I've learned from this experience is how many wonderful friends I have out there who I have never met. I began this blog just under two years ago to share my fairly recent discovery that love truly is the basis of the gospel of Christ. It may seem trite and obvious to some, but I never really grasped the importance of unconditional love until just about four years ago (I'm slower than most). Heretofore I had seen my religion as primarily one of strict rules and procedures, and I approved of that view. Then after a lifetime of devotion and obedience to the Church, I finally got around to experiencing "a mighty change." I had God all wrong. It wasn't obedience he wanted out of me, it was kindness.

One of the reasons I began this blog was from a desire to share my discoveries with others who were still stuck in that Pharisaical brand of Mormonism I had grown up believing in, the one represented by a mantra for obedience rather than what Restoration Theology was meant to be: a jumping off point leading to higher knowledge, which leads in turn to a true liberation of the soul. The beginning of that liberation comes from truly grasping the meaning of unconditional love.

This past week I got a powerful new lesson in unconditional. Not only have so many been willing to reach out with love to a young family in need that they didn't even know, but something else occurred here that has touched my heart in a profound way.

I've just learned I have many, many friends out there. You'll have to excuse me for being surprised, but the fact is, almost nobody I know personally reads this blog or cares much for anything I might have to say; No one in my current ward, no one in my former ward, and no one in the nearby ward I lived in for almost fifteen years. Many of these fine people are Facebook friends. They are aware that I write a blog about Mormon issues, but they won't read it. Some of the things I write about here make them uncomfortable, so they choose to not come back.

From some of the notes and messages accompanying the donations, I am beginning to realize that many of you donated to my daughter because in some inexplicable way you are actually honoring me. I wish I could come up with a way to say that so it sounded more humble, but there it is. I've learned I have thousands of true friends I didn't know about, strangers who value what I have to say and who would come to my rescue at the drop of a hat. When someone I hadn't known re-posted last week's entry on another Facebook site, several comments immediately appeared announcing they were contributing. Another someone I didn't know named Chris said "Done and done. His blog alone is worth the money."

That comment meant the world to me, and many have sent messages of appreciation echoing that sentiment these past days. Your friendship means the world to me. What means the most is your unconditional love, not only for me but for my daughter and her family; parents and kids you never met and probably never will meet. Yet you dropped everything and sent money at a time of year when I know money is short for everyone.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Please excuse the way I smell. I've been crawling around in the sewer lately.

Imagine your child was just gunned down in the street by an unknown assailant. Wanting to read everything you can find about his death, you go online and read the newspaper's website account. Then in the comments section, you find some anonymous poster has written this:

“Why should I care about some thug getting himself killed? Let them all kill each other. Get it over with and Good riddance.”

This was the first of similar comments left on the website of our local paper, The Sacramento Bee, after the first account of the shooting of my teenage grandson. In my last post I recounted how Jesse had sneaked out of the house for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night because he wanted to spend time with his girlfriend. As the two of them were walking toward home, a car containing two or three occupants pulled up.

Since I wrote that last piece, one suspect, an illegal immigrant, has been arrested (two more are assumed to have fled to Mexico), and we now know a bit more of what happened at the scene.

A young Latino male on the passenger side of the car leaned out and asked Jesse, “You bang?”

Jesse said no.

“Who you claim?”

“Nobody.”

The assailant pointed to the red sweatshirt visible beneath Jesse's open parka. “Then why you wearin' the colors, man?”

Jesse shrugged. The car pulled away.

Jesse and the girl watched as the car circled back again and stopped beside them. One of the men stepped out, leveled a shotgun at Jesse, and blasted him in the gut at close range. Another shot was fired at the girl as she turned to run, but the beads hit the pavement and some of the ricochet hit her in the foot. The car sped off.

Neighbors heard the gunfire and rushed out of their homes to help, but Jesse was pronounced dead at the hospital.

There was no mention in the newspaper article of the shooting victim being a thug. The piece described him merely as a fifteen year old boy. Yet several more readers jumped in with similar ugly assessments: Glad another one's dead...Got what he deserved... What do you expect...

The reporter who wrote the story told me the comment section is not a place she recommends. I should have listened. It is an ugly sewer of unwarranted judgment filled with people who have no concern for the feelings of others. In Jesse's case, there seemed to be some automatic assumption that because it was a drive-by shooting, both the shooter and the victim were members of opposing gangs. People wasted no time piling on a poor dead kid who the cops later said just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and wearing the wrong damn shirt.

In my previous post, I mentioned that Jesse had gang wannabe tendencies. I was not entirely correct about that. It's true Jesse told his father he was thinking of joining a gang, but it's now believed he said that just to irk his dad. Nothing could make Tommy Jones lose his cool faster than hearing that his son was headed down that path, and Jesse knew how to push his father's buttons. The detectives on the case affirm that Jesse had absolutely no ties with any gangs or gang members. The reality was that Jesse wasn't even remotely acquainted with anyone in that world.

According to a school official, quite a few middle class students who have no real affiliation with any street gangs have of late been wearing the clothes and affecting “claims” for no other reason than to mess with their teachers and parents. It's all make-believe. Jesse Jones was no more a real gangster than your kid is a real pirate.

If the unauthorized wearing of gang colors gets parents and faculty torqued, what these kids don't seem to realize is how much it infuriates real gangsters to see punk high school kids on the street acting as posers. That alone may have been poor Jesse's undoing. A white boy wearing the colors of a local Latino gang might as well be tagging on their turf.

The news reported that Jesse was fifteen years old, and that he and his girlfriend were walking home at two in the morning. That was enough, somehow, for readers to assume Jesse was a worthless punk who had it coming to him.

In reality Jesse wouldn't have been able to even qualify for the label "punk." He was impish and playful, but known to be very respectful to adults. There was nothing of the sullen street tough in him. The most common description I've heard from his classmates was that he was nice and he was funny.

I don't think I've ever seen such an avalanche of unrighteous judgment as I have lately on the various media comment boards. Opinions very similar to those left in the Bee's comment section also appeared on the local NBC affiliate website after the story appeared on the nightly news.

Judge Not Unrighteously

Jesus commanded us to not judge by outward appearances, but here was an entire subset of citizen writers not even waiting for a description of the victim's appearance. Barely informed about the matter, they nevertheless weighed in with knowing verdicts both on a dead boy and on his parents.

Although some letters expressed sympathy for the family, those expressions were very few and far between. While some readers were anxious to blame an innocent child for his own death, many others unloaded their venom directly on the boy's parents. Below are excerpts from just some of those comments. There are literally dozens and dozens just like these:

“Why were those teenagers out walking around in the middle of the night when they should have been in bed? Their parents were not doing their job. I'm the mother of three girls, and they would never be allowed out alone at night.”

"Wow. 2 teenagers out walking at 2am. Nice parental control."

“Where was this boys parents? What kind of parents allow their children to be out at 2 in the morning?”

“It is sad the guy died but a good parent would have not let their child roam the streets at 2am.”

“Two teens on the pathway to gangland are gone due to a shooting, there will be more until the parents start doing their jobs.”

“Call me a protective parent, but, if parents weren't so afraid to be a bit more in control, maybe these things would not happen.”

“The child would still be alive if the parents knew where he was. My son would NEVER be out in the streets at that hour!”

“I blame the parents 100%. Why is your child walking the streets at 2:15am? You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“What in the world are 15 yr olds doing out and about at 2 AM? You wanna have your kids killed young - let them run around all hours of the night.”

“A 15 year old kid walking the streets at 2 AM, whats wrong with this picture. Being in a home where the mother and father actually care about their kid would have her home before midnight and in bed. Wrong color and crowd doesn`t extend a young persons life.”

“No teenager should be allowed to come and go as they please. What kind of parents let their children do whatever they want?”

“These kids should have been in their beds asleep. The parents are to blame for this. I always made my kids sleep at night.”

“This boy would not be dead if his parents had done their duty. It's the parents fault their child died. Parents, MAN UP!!!”

“Why are the parents not arrested for allowing there children to be out at 2:15 am walking around in a gang infested area?”

“Yes, the parents should have been arrested!! Who lets their kids stay out all night?”

“You've gotta blame the parents on this one. At 2:04 am 15-year-old kids should be at home, not out walking the streets.”

“What the heck were children doing out at 2am Parents need to take responsibility OMG Really come on people!”

“What were those children doing walking around on the street at two o'clock in the morning? Where in the world were their parents or gaurdians? This is a complete and total outrage!!!”

“Who lets their young kids walk the streets at that hour??? I don't care what area they live in, they need to be home or supervised. I could not live with myself if I knew I let my kid cruise and he/she was shot.”

“My question is what parent would allow their child to be out on the street at 2AM?

Is there something wrong with this picture?”

Yes, There Is Something Wrong With This Picture

Jesse's parents did not “allow” him to be out roaming the streets at all hours of the night. Jesse lived with his father and his stepmother -my daughter Amy- who both enforced a strict curfew on Jesse. Jesse had to be in by 8:30 on school nights and 9 o'clock on Weekends.

But Jesse recently took to defying his curfew, sneaking out after everyone else was asleep to go and meet up with his girlfriend. Tommy and Amy tried every punishment imaginable to keep Jesse in line. They took away his cellphone; they sold his Xbox. They threatened to have him locked up. They offered him enticements if he behaved.

There is no punishment or reward great enough to overcome a teenager's first love. All kids in love for the first time think they are Romeo and Juliet. Parents can't possibly understand; they're just in the way. The threat of punishment holds no power.

Jesse slipped out his window that night two weeks ago, not looking for trouble with any gang, but just to see his girlfriend. It should be noted that neither the neighborhood where Jesse lived, nor the area where he was killed are "known gang areas," as many assumed. They are both quiet middle class neighborhoods. The suspect had to drive some distance from his own home to the quiet intersection where he gunned down my grandson.

In California, police can't act on the report of a runaway until the child has been missing for 48 hours. So many a night after discovering Jesse gone from his bed, Tommy and Amy did what any parent would do when their child is missing. They bundled up their newborn baby against the cold and drove up and down every street in the neighborhood; then every street in the neighboring neighborhood, searching in vain for the recalcitrant teen.

They never found him those nights, but he usually showed up the next morning or after school, unrepentant and secretly planning to disappear again a night or two later.

Now that Jesse is dead, his father, Tommy, has of course been second guessing himself over and over. Had he been too hard on the boy? Had he not been hard enough? Maybe he should have backed off, been more lenient? Should he have spent more hours searching for Jesse in the dark? Did he try hard enough? Did he tell Jesse he loved him often enough? Was there anything more he could have done to prevent his son's death?

The answer, of course, is there was absolutely nothing that Tommy, Amy, or anyone could have done for Jesse that would have prevented this tragedy. Jesse was ignoring the family rules. He didn't fear punishment from his parents, and he certainly wasn't expecting any danger on the street.

I ask you again to imagine it was your son brutally murdered in the night, and now you can't eat or sleep or stop blaming yourself.

Then imagine what it must have been like for Tommy to see the words of those strangers hammering at him over and over, accusing him of contributing to the death of his own child. I wonder what magical parenting skills these commenters think could have worked in this situation? Do they even know what it's like to have a boy who simply will not be corralled? More than likely most of them, if they even are parents, have not yet experienced what it is like to parent a teen. If they think two-year-olds are difficult, just wait. Teenagers can act exactly like two-year-olds, but they're much, much bigger and harder to control.

For those judgmental strangers to assume that a child who is out all night is out there with the smiling approval of his parents...well I hardly know what to say about such astounding ignorance. Having countless judgments like that directed at a man already beaten down by grief can come close to killing his spirit. Just knowing there are people out there thinking and saying such awful things about you when you're already devastated by your child's death is destructive to the soul. It makes the living wish that they, too, were dead.

The remarkable thing is, I don't believe any of these people had any idea of the damage they were doing to this poor family. They scanned the newspaper article, felt a touch of outrage, tapped out an anonymous remark, then moved on, never to return. I don't think it occurred to any of them that the actual parents of the actual dead boy would be reading their heart-piercing words. They just thoughtlessly threw them out there. Hit and run. Grab, stab, and and move on.

Recently the Sacramento Bee transitioned to a new comment section format, and happily, during the turnover all those old comments dropped off the website. Still, the damage to the feelings of Jesse's family is considerable.

Jesse has a real father, a real mother, a real stepmother, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents; all still grieving over Jesse's death. Really grieving. Those thoughtless comments continue to haunt, twisting a knife into their hearts.

My parents and grandparents have all passed on, and though their deaths were sad, they were not unexpected. This one is different. The senseless murder of a child you know is a tragedy that remains with you every minute of the day. One thoughtless remark, let alone dozens, can have a soul crushing effect.

Jesse's funeral was attended by hundreds of his fellow students, so many that the funeral chapel was too full to hold them all. These kids were average everyday schoolkids who loved and cared for Jesse, not his "fellow gangbangers” that one commenter predicted would show up to “decorate his grave with gang indicia.”

For parents to learn their child is dead is hard enough. To hear so many strangers believing he was a criminal who “had it coming to him” is unbearable. I've seen the toll all this has taken on Jesse's father, his mother, Jessica, his stepmother Amy, and his saintly grandmother, Carol. Had you been at the grave site with these good people as their little boy was lowered into the ground it would have broken your heart.

As tenuous as our own relationship was to Jesse (we are only his step-grandparents, after all) even Connie and I have been affected in sudden and surprising ways. Any little reminder can set us off.

I was at the grocery store check stand recently buying a bag of groceries to take to Tommy and Amy. I was looking down, pulling out my money, when I heard the young bag boy ask, “Paper or plastic?”

“Paper, please,” I replied. Then I looked up and saw the boy's nametag. His name was Jesse.

Out of nowhere, tears welled up in my eyes and I wept all the way back to my car.

Yesterday Connie was in the bedroom watching the Christmas movie “Prancer” on TV. There's a scene where the young girl, Jessica, has been found after her father and others have been out all night frantically searching for her. Her father says to her, “I realized how hard it would be without you if you went away, Jessie.”

Connie turned off the TV and sobbed for literally hours.

The Two Dollar Burial Plan

Someone who cares about Jesse set up a memorial fund at the bank she works at to help with Jesse's burial costs. My daughter Amy asked me if I was allowed to mention this on my blog.

Hell yes, I'm “allowed”! I can say anything here I want to. I can even say "hell" like I just did at the beginning of this paragraph, and I can say it whenever the hell I want to. (Longtime readers will recall I once used the word “poop” in the title of one of my entries, so yes, I live on the edge and I make my own rules.)

Jesse's relatives have contributed what they could to his funeral and burial costs, but this is not a family that has a lot of extra money. His grandmother, Carol, gave up her meager retirement savings, but there's still five thousand dollars immediately owing, and all that crushing debt falls squarely on the shoulders of Tommy and Amy.

If there's anything worse than finding out your child just died, it's at the same time learning that you have to somehow come up with a huge amount of money just to bury him. It's horrible.

They say trouble always comes in threes, so just two days before Tommy was notified of the death of his child, he was also notified he was laid off from work for the season. Tommy's job kept him outdoors, and there had been so much rain in October and November that he had only worked a few days here and there as it was. So for Tommy and Amy, money was not only short at the time the news came of Jesse's death, it was practically non-existent. Happily, Tommy has more work lined up starting in March, if they can hold out that long.

The third bit of trouble that came was when their car broke down on the way to the viewing.

Tommy can fix the car himself, but the part is unaffordable at this time. I and other friends have been driving Levi to school and helping out in other ways.

On December 9th Tommy got his first unemployment check in the amount of $900.00.

Their rent took $800.00 of it.

Needless to say, no one in that household is thinking about Christmas. Even if there was money, they don't feel like celebrating. The only thing on Tommy and Amy's minds is Jesse, and the cruel manner in which he was taken from them. That's all they can think about day after day.

(Luckily for the younger kids, I had already bought their Christmas presents from Connie and me weeks before, so don't worry, they won't be going without. Taryn is getting her dream gift; a Disney Princesses Bath Set; while I got Levi a pair of those cool moon shoes.)

I was just over at Tommy and Amy's place and looked through their kitchen. The only food in their cupboard is the food I had brought over from my own cupboards. I'm doing what I can to see the kids don't go hungry, but man, that was a shock. Amy never reactivated in the church since her own teen years, so her family doesn't have church resources to draw upon.

Amy has been hustling ever since all this happened trying to hook up with some community resources that might be able to offer a little assistance, but it just seems to be too late in the season; everyone's overextended at a time when there is so much unemployment in the area. Although she's labored heroically trying to find some way to take care of her little family, Amy has not been very successful. The local food bank was recently completely destroyed by fire, leaving a lot of needy people without basics. (Arson is suspected, as there had been some grumbling neighbors afraid the food bank was attracting riff-raff to the area.)

After two weeks, The Jesse Dean Jones Memorial Fund has taken in a grand total of three hundred dollars. Jesse's classmates took up a collection at school and brought in about a hundred dollars more.

We are extremely grateful for all those donations. But let's face it, this family is in trouble, and $400.00 won't satisfy the funeral home. So the way I see things, it's now up to you and me.

Brother, Can You Spare Two Bucks?

I'm asking everyone who reads these words to contribute two dollars to the Jesse Jones Memorial Fund right now.

Why only two dollars? Well, I know how these things go. Many's the time I've meant to contribute to some good cause or another, but usually I couldn't spare the twenty or fifty dollars I felt the cause deserved. So I put off making that donation with the intention of contributing twenty bucks or more “next month.”

What usually happened was that time got away and that good cause ended up getting nothing from me, and probably nothing from a lot of other people whose good intentions were just as productive as mine. But I think most anyone can come up with a couple of dollars on the spot. Besides, if every one of you reading these words contributes just two dollars, that should be enough. Here's why:

This blog has attracted what I think is a phenomenal number of readers lately; just since August it averages out to over 5,000 readers for every essay I post.

Adjusting for the September and October entries which attracted an unusually high number of readers, and assuming a number of repeat visitors to the site who come back to read older posts, I think we can still expect between 2,500 and 3,000 people will read this current entry. If those people contribute just two dollars each, I believe we can make the Jesse Jones Memorial Fund overflow. That would get the burial debt off the backs of Jesse's parents and maybe even have enough extra for them to buy some food, pay the heating bill, and fix their car. God didn't give me this bully pulpit for nothing. How do you feel about helping me do some good with this thing?

Just so you have no excuse to put this off until later, I've thought of three ways you can donate your two bucks so you can take care of it right now without delay. (And if you're reading this a month or more later, it's still not too late to let your donation trickle in. Two bucks is still two bucks, right?)

Billpay

If you're hooked in with Billpay, this is the easiest. Go into your Billpay account and scroll down to the bottom where it says “Browse for Company Payees.” Click on the “W” then find Westamerica Bank.

It will ask for Payee name and number. The reason for that line is the system assumes you are paying your own bill, so really, just ignore that part. You'll find two locations listed for WestAmerica Bank. Click on either one, it doesn't matter.

Enter this account Number: 0601083371

Enter this name: Jesse Jones

Enter this amount: $2.00

(You will not be penalized for adding a buck or two more, by the way.)

If you aren't a BillPay user, or it sounds too complicated, there is a safe and easy way to send money through the mail. Simply tear out a page from a catalog or magazine ad and wrap your two bucks in that page, then place that in an envelope. Anyone holding the envelope up to the light to see what's in it will not be able to tell there's money inside.

A page from the Figi's catalog works great, because all those pictures of cheese make great camouflage. I know you have at least one Figi's catalog on hand. They've sent me four since November because they must think I'm an idiot (I do like cheese, but come on, I'm not about to pay $17.95 a pound for it).

If you don't have two dollars on hand right now, send one dollar. Conversely, if the smallest bill you have right now is a five or a ten or a twenty, you have to send whatever it is you do have on hand. (Sorry, I don't make the rules. You should have been better prepared.)

Address the envelope to:

Tommy and Amy Jones

934 Carro Dr. Apt 3

Sacramento, CA 95825

The first two bucks cash has already been received, as last night I hit up my home teacher while he was here. So the pump is primed. Who's gonna be next?

Paypal

If you prefer using Paypal, you can transfer the money directly to my Paypal account, and I'll see that the Jones family gets it.

Go into your paypal account and click on the “Send Money” tab near the top. Enter my email address which is Rockwaterman@gmail.com

Now, this next step is important: The open tab reads “Purchases.” Click the other one, the one that says “Personal.” If you don't do that, Paypal will charge a transaction fee, and you don't want that. Click Personal, then “Cash Advance.”

Don't Be Afraid To Spread The Word

My October 31st post garnered an astonishing ten thousand hits before November was half over, but that was an admittedly extraordinary topic and I don't expect to see that many readers again. Since this post I'm writing now is off topic, it may not get very widely circulated. But even if it sees only a couple of thousand hits, that's no small bananas. We can still make a big difference in these worthy people's lives.

One reason the October topic did so well was because 572 people shared the link to that article on Facebook. Think of the impact we could have if some of you were to repost this link with a heading such as “Would you give two dollars to these people?”

You Can't Feel Love When You're Feeling Judgmental

There is a very good reason Jesus taught us not to judge people and situations we know nothing about. Unrighteous judgment prevents us from obeying the great commandment that we love one another. It simply is not possible to love anyone while holding them in judgment. Judgment chases out love. The two cannot co-exist in your heart simultaneously.

Dozens of strangers may have judged Tommy and Amy without cause, but we can erase all that hurt by showing them there are thousands of other strangers out there who love them.

Thank you all for the good you are about to do. I'll report the results here on Christmas morning.

*****

Afterword: The Balloon Incident

One more story before I go.

Many people believe that the spirit of a departed person continues to hang around until the body is in the grave. I'm one of those people.

At the conclusion of Jesse's graveside service, after Jesse's casket had been lowered into the ground and the cover placed over it, Jesse's weeping mother, Jessica, released a handful of helium balloons into the air. This was to symbolize the letting go, the release of Jesse into the arms of God.

But it went horribly wrong. A sudden gust of wind carried the balloons straight up and smack into the high branches of a nearby tree. The balloons stuck there, strings and branches tangled together. There was no way those balloons would be breaking free and flying off. It was an awful disappointment.

Or so I thought.

I was later told by family members that after a family get together on Jesse's birthday a couple of months back, Jesse had taken a handful of helium balloons out to the front yard and let them go. The wind immediately blew them smack into the branches of a high tree. There was no way those balloons would be breaking free and flying off.

So when the same thing happened at Jesse's grave site, it was taken by his loved ones as a sweet sign from the mischievous boy. "Jesse isn't gone," said his mother, Jessica, "He's still watching over us."

Please excuse the way I smell. I've been crawling around in the sewer lately.

Imagine your child was just gunned down in the street by an unknown assailant. Wanting to read everything you can find about his death, you go online and read the newspaper's website account. Then in the comments section, you find some anonymous poster has written this:

“Why should I care about some thug getting himself killed? Let them all kill each other. Get it over with and Good riddance.”

This was the first of similar comments left on the website of our local paper, The Sacramento Bee, after the first account of the shooting of my teenage grandson. In my last post I recounted how Jesse had sneaked out of the house for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night because he wanted to spend time with his girlfriend. As the two of them were walking toward home, a car containing two or three occupants pulled up.

Since I wrote that last piece, one suspect, an illegal immigrant, has been arrested (two more are assumed to have fled to Mexico), and we now know a bit more of what happened at the scene.

A young Latino male on the passenger side of the car leaned out and asked Jesse, “You bang?”

Jesse said no.

“Who you claim?”

“Nobody.”

The assailant pointed to the red sweatshirt visible beneath Jesse's open parka. “Then why you wearin' the colors, man?”

Jesse shrugged. The car pulled away.

Jesse and the girl watched as the car circled back again and stopped beside them. One of the men stepped out, leveled a shotgun at Jesse, and blasted him in the gut at close range. Another shot was fired at the girl as she turned to run, but the beads hit the pavement and some of the ricochet hit her in the foot. The car sped off.

Neighbors heard the gunfire and rushed out of their homes to help, but Jesse was pronounced dead at the hospital.

There was no mention in the newspaper article of the shooting victim being a thug. The piece described him merely as a fifteen year old boy. Yet several more readers jumped in with similar ugly assessments: Glad another one's dead...Got what he deserved... What do you expect...

The reporter who wrote the story told me the comment section is not a place she recommends. I should have listened. It is an ugly sewer of unwarranted judgment filled with people who have no concern for the feelings of others. In Jesse's case, there seemed to be some automatic assumption that because it was a drive-by shooting, both the shooter and the victim were members of opposing gangs. People wasted no time piling on a poor dead kid who the cops later said just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and wearing the wrong damn shirt.

In my previous post, I mentioned that Jesse had gang wannabe tendencies. I was not entirely correct about that. It's true Jesse told his father he was thinking of joining a gang, but it's now believed he said that just to irk his dad. Nothing could make Tommy Jones lose his cool faster than hearing that his son was headed down that path, and Jesse knew how to push his father's buttons. The detectives on the case affirm that Jesse had absolutely no ties with any gangs or gang members. The reality was that Jesse wasn't even remotely acquainted with anyone in that world.

According to a school official, quite a few middle class students who have no real affiliation with any street gangs have of late been wearing the clothes and affecting “claims” for no other reason than to mess with their teachers and parents. It's all make-believe. Jesse Jones was no more a real gangster than your kid is a real pirate.

If the unauthorized wearing of gang colors gets parents and faculty torqued, what these kids don't seem to realize is how much it infuriates real gangsters to see punk high school kids on the street acting as posers. That alone may have been poor Jesse's undoing. A white boy wearing the colors of a local Latino gang might as well be tagging on their turf.

The news reported that Jesse was fifteen years old, and that he and his girlfriend were walking home at two in the morning. That was enough, somehow, for readers to assume Jesse was a worthless punk who had it coming to him.

In reality Jesse wouldn't have been able to even qualify for the label "punk." He was impish and playful, but known to be very respectful to adults. There was nothing of the sullen street tough in him. The most common description I've heard from his classmates was that he was nice and he was funny.

I don't think I've ever seen such an avalanche of unrighteous judgment as I have lately on the various media comment boards. Opinions very similar to those left in the Bee's comment section also appeared on the local NBC affiliate website after the story appeared on the nightly news.

Judge Not Unrighteously

Jesus commanded us to not judge by outward appearances, but here was an entire subset of citizen writers not even waiting for a description of the victim's appearance. Barely informed about the matter, they nevertheless weighed in with knowing verdicts both on a dead boy and on his parents.

Although some letters expressed sympathy for the family, those expressions were very few and far between. While some readers were anxious to blame an innocent child for his own death, many others unloaded their venom directly on the boy's parents. Below are excerpts from just some of those comments. There are literally dozens and dozens just like these:

“Why were those teenagers out walking around in the middle of the night when they should have been in bed? Their parents were not doing their job. I'm the mother of three girls, and they would never be allowed out alone at night.”

"Wow. 2 teenagers out walking at 2am. Nice parental control."

“Where was this boys parents? What kind of parents allow their children to be out at 2 in the morning?”

“It is sad the guy died but a good parent would have not let their child roam the streets at 2am.”

“Two teens on the pathway to gangland are gone due to a shooting, there will be more until the parents start doing their jobs.”

“Call me a protective parent, but, if parents weren't so afraid to be a bit more in control, maybe these things would not happen.”

“The child would still be alive if the parents knew where he was. My son would NEVER be out in the streets at that hour!”

“I blame the parents 100%. Why is your child walking the streets at 2:15am? You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“What in the world are 15 yr olds doing out and about at 2 AM? You wanna have your kids killed young - let them run around all hours of the night.”

“A 15 year old kid walking the streets at 2 AM, whats wrong with this picture. Being in a home where the mother and father actually care about their kid would have her home before midnight and in bed. Wrong color and crowd doesn`t extend a young persons life.”

“No teenager should be allowed to come and go as they please. What kind of parents let their children do whatever they want?”

“These kids should have been in their beds asleep. The parents are to blame for this. I always made my kids sleep at night.”

“This boy would not be dead if his parents had done their duty. It's the parents fault their child died. Parents, MAN UP!!!”

“Why are the parents not arrested for allowing there children to be out at 2:15 am walking around in a gang infested area?”

“Yes, the parents should have been arrested!! Who lets their kids stay out all night?”

“You've gotta blame the parents on this one. At 2:04 am 15-year-old kids should be at home, not out walking the streets.”

“What the heck were children doing out at 2am Parents need to take responsibility OMG Really come on people!”

“What were those children doing walking around on the street at two o'clock in the morning? Where in the world were their parents or gaurdians? This is a complete and total outrage!!!”

“Who lets their young kids walk the streets at that hour??? I don't care what area they live in, they need to be home or supervised. I could not live with myself if I knew I let my kid cruise and he/she was shot.”

“My question is what parent would allow their child to be out on the street at 2AM?

Is there something wrong with this picture?”

Yes, There Is Something Wrong With This Picture

Jesse's parents did not “allow” him to be out roaming the streets at all hours of the night. Jesse lived with his father and his stepmother -my daughter Amy- who both enforced a strict curfew on Jesse. Jesse had to be in by 8:30 on school nights and 9 o'clock on Weekends.

But Jesse recently took to defying his curfew, sneaking out after everyone else was asleep to go and meet up with his girlfriend. Tommy and Amy tried every punishment imaginable to keep Jesse in line. They took away his cellphone; they sold his Xbox. They threatened to have him locked up. They offered him enticements if he behaved.

There is no punishment or reward great enough to overcome a teenager's first love. All kids in love for the first time think they are Romeo and Juliet. Parents can't possibly understand; they're just in the way. The threat of punishment holds no power.

Jesse slipped out his window that night two weeks ago, not looking for trouble with any gang, but just to see his girlfriend. It should be noted that neither the neighborhood where Jesse lived, nor the area where he was killed are "known gang areas," as many assumed. They are both quiet middle class neighborhoods. The suspect had to drive some distance from his own home to the quiet intersection where he gunned down my grandson.

In California, police can't act on the report of a runaway until the child has been missing for 48 hours. So many a night after discovering Jesse gone from his bed, Tommy and Amy did what any parent would do when their child is missing. They bundled up their newborn baby against the cold and drove up and down every street in the neighborhood; then every street in the neighboring neighborhood, searching in vain for the recalcitrant teen.

They never found him those nights, but he usually showed up the next morning or after school, unrepentant and secretly planning to disappear again a night or two later.

Now that Jesse is dead, his father, Tommy, has of course been second guessing himself over and over. Had he been too hard on the boy? Had he not been hard enough? Maybe he should have backed off, been more lenient? Should he have spent more hours searching for Jesse in the dark? Did he try hard enough? Did he tell Jesse he loved him often enough? Was there anything more he could have done to prevent his son's death?

The answer, of course, is there was absolutely nothing that Tommy, Amy, or anyone could have done for Jesse that would have prevented this tragedy. Jesse was ignoring the family rules. He didn't fear punishment from his parents, and he certainly wasn't expecting any danger on the street.

I ask you again to imagine it was your son brutally murdered in the night, and now you can't eat or sleep or stop blaming yourself.

Then imagine what it must have been like for Tommy to see the words of those strangers hammering at him over and over, accusing him of contributing to the death of his own child. I wonder what magical parenting skills these commenters think could have worked in this situation? Do they even know what it's like to have a boy who simply will not be corralled? More than likely most of them, if they even are parents, have not yet experienced what it is like to parent a teen. If they think two-year-olds are difficult, just wait. Teenagers can act exactly like two-year-olds, but they're much, much bigger and harder to control.

For those judgmental strangers to assume that a child who is out all night is out there with the smiling approval of his parents...well I hardly know what to say about such astounding ignorance. Having countless judgments like that directed at a man already beaten down by grief can come close to killing his spirit. Just knowing there are people out there thinking and saying such awful things about you when you're already devastated by your child's death is destructive to the soul. It makes the living wish that they, too, were dead.

The remarkable thing is, I don't believe any of these people had any idea of the damage they were doing to this poor family. They scanned the newspaper article, felt a touch of outrage, tapped out an anonymous remark, then moved on, never to return. I don't think it occurred to any of them that the actual parents of the actual dead boy would be reading their heart-piercing words. They just thoughtlessly threw them out there. Hit and run. Grab, stab, and and move on.

Recently the Sacramento Bee transitioned to a new comment section format, and happily, during the turnover all those old comments dropped off the website. Still, the damage to the feelings of Jesse's family is considerable.

Jesse has a real father, a real mother, a real stepmother, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents; all still grieving over Jesse's death. Really grieving. Those thoughtless comments continue to haunt, twisting a knife into their hearts.

My parents and grandparents have all passed on, and though their deaths were sad, they were not unexpected. This one is different. The senseless murder of a child you know is a tragedy that remains with you every minute of the day. One thoughtless remark, let alone dozens, can have a soul crushing effect.

Jesse's funeral was attended by hundreds of his fellow students, so many that the funeral chapel was too full to hold them all. These kids were average everyday schoolkids who loved and cared for Jesse, not his "fellow gangbangers” that one commenter predicted would show up to “decorate his grave with gang indicia.”

For parents to learn their child is dead is hard enough. To hear so many strangers believing he was a criminal who “had it coming to him” is unbearable. I've seen the toll all this has taken on Jesse's father, his mother, Jessica, his stepmother Amy, and his saintly grandmother, Carol. Had you been at the grave site with these good people as their little boy was lowered into the ground it would have broken your heart.

As tenuous as our own relationship was to Jesse (we are only his step-grandparents, after all) even Connie and I have been affected in sudden and surprising ways. Any little reminder can set us off.

I was at the grocery store check stand recently buying a bag of groceries to take to Tommy and Amy. I was looking down, pulling out my money, when I heard the young bag boy ask, “Paper or plastic?”

“Paper, please,” I replied. Then I looked up and saw the boy's nametag. His name was Jesse.

Out of nowhere, tears welled up in my eyes and I wept all the way back to my car.

Yesterday Connie was in the bedroom watching the Christmas movie “Prancer” on TV. There's a scene where the young girl, Jessica, has been found after her father and others have been out all night frantically searching for her. Her father says to her, “I realized how hard it would be without you if you went away, Jessie.”

Connie turned off the TV and sobbed for literally hours.

The Two Dollar Burial Plan

Someone who cares about Jesse set up a memorial fund at the bank she works at to help with Jesse's burial costs. My daughter Amy asked me if I was allowed to mention this on my blog.

Hell yes, I'm “allowed”! I can say anything here I want to. I can even say "hell" like I just did at the beginning of this paragraph, and I can say it whenever the hell I want to. (Longtime readers will recall I once used the word “poop” in the title of one of my entries, so yes, I live on the edge and I make my own rules.)

Jesse's relatives have contributed what they could to his funeral and burial costs, but this is not a family that has a lot of extra money. His grandmother, Carol, gave up her meager retirement savings, but there's still five thousand dollars immediately owing, and all that crushing debt falls squarely on the shoulders of Tommy and Amy.

If there's anything worse than finding out your child just died, it's at the same time learning that you have to somehow come up with a huge amount of money just to bury him. It's horrible.

They say trouble always comes in threes, so just two days before Tommy was notified of the death of his child, he was also notified he was laid off from work for the season. Tommy's job kept him outdoors, and there had been so much rain in October and November that he had only worked a few days here and there as it was. So for Tommy and Amy, money was not only short at the time the news came of Jesse's death, it was practically non-existent. Happily, Tommy has more work lined up starting in March, if they can hold out that long.

The third bit of trouble that came was when their car broke down on the way to the viewing.

Tommy can fix the car himself, but the part is unaffordable at this time. I and other friends have been driving Levi to school and helping out in other ways.

On December 9th Tommy got his first unemployment check in the amount of $900.00.

Their rent took $800.00 of it.

Needless to say, no one in that household is thinking about Christmas. Even if there was money, they don't feel like celebrating. The only thing on Tommy and Amy's minds is Jesse, and the cruel manner in which he was taken from them. That's all they can think about day after day.

(Luckily for the younger kids, I had already bought their Christmas presents from Connie and me weeks before, so don't worry, they won't be going without. Taryn is getting her dream gift; a Disney Princesses Bath Set; while I got Levi a pair of those cool moon shoes.)

I was just over at Tommy and Amy's place and looked through their kitchen. The only food in their cupboard is the food I had brought over from my own cupboards. I'm doing what I can to see the kids don't go hungry, but man, that was a shock. Amy never reactivated in the church since her own teen years, so her family doesn't have church resources to draw upon.

Amy has been hustling ever since all this happened trying to hook up with some community resources that might be able to offer a little assistance, but it just seems to be too late in the season; everyone's overextended at a time when there is so much unemployment in the area. Although she's labored heroically trying to find some way to take care of her little family, Amy has not been very successful. The local food bank was recently completely destroyed by fire, leaving a lot of needy people without basics. (Arson is suspected, as there had been some grumbling neighbors afraid the food bank was attracting riff-raff to the area.)

After two weeks, The Jesse Dean Jones Memorial Fund has taken in a grand total of three hundred dollars. Jesse's classmates took up a collection at school and brought in about a hundred dollars more.

We are extremely grateful for all those donations. But let's face it, this family is in trouble, and $400.00 won't satisfy the funeral home. So the way I see things, it's now up to you and me.

Brother, Can You Spare Two Bucks?

I'm asking everyone who reads these words to contribute two dollars to the Jesse Jones Memorial Fund right now.

Why only two dollars? Well, I know how these things go. Many's the time I've meant to contribute to some good cause or another, but usually I couldn't spare the twenty or fifty dollars I felt the cause deserved. So I put off making that donation with the intention of contributing twenty bucks or more “next month.”

What usually happened was that time got away and that good cause ended up getting nothing from me, and probably nothing from a lot of other people whose good intentions were just as productive as mine. But I think most anyone can come up with a couple of dollars on the spot. Besides, if every one of you reading these words contributes just two dollars, that should be enough. Here's why:

This blog has attracted what I think is a phenomenal number of readers lately; just since August it averages out to over 5,000 readers for every essay I post.

Adjusting for the September and October entries which attracted an unusually high number of readers, and assuming a number of repeat visitors to the site who come back to read older posts, I think we can still expect between 2,500 and 3,000 people will read this current entry. If those people contribute just two dollars each, I believe we can make the Jesse Jones Memorial Fund overflow. That would get the burial debt off the backs of Jesse's parents and maybe even have enough extra for them to buy some food, pay the heating bill, and fix their car. God didn't give me this bully pulpit for nothing. How do you feel about helping me do some good with this thing?

Just so you have no excuse to put this off until later, I've thought of three ways you can donate your two bucks so you can take care of it right now without delay. (And if you're reading this a month or more later, it's still not too late to let your donation trickle in. Two bucks is still two bucks, right?)

Billpay

If you're hooked in with Billpay, this is the easiest. Go into your Billpay account and scroll down to the bottom where it says “Browse for Company Payees.” Click on the “W” then find Westamerica Bank.

It will ask for Payee name and number. The reason for that line is the system assumes you are paying your own bill, so really, just ignore that part. You'll find two locations listed for WestAmerica Bank. Click on either one, it doesn't matter.

Enter this account Number: 0601083371

Enter this name: Jesse Jones

Enter this amount: $2.00

(You will not be penalized for adding a buck or two more, by the way.)

If you aren't a BillPay user, or it sounds too complicated, there is a safe and easy way to send money through the mail. Simply tear out a page from a catalog or magazine ad and wrap your two bucks in that page, then place that in an envelope. Anyone holding the envelope up to the light to see what's in it will not be able to tell there's money inside.

A page from the Figi's catalog works great, because all those pictures of cheese make great camouflage. I know you have at least one Figi's catalog on hand. They've sent me four since November because they must think I'm an idiot (I do like cheese, but come on, I'm not about to pay $17.95 a pound for it).

If you don't have two dollars on hand right now, send one dollar. Conversely, if the smallest bill you have right now is a five or a ten or a twenty, you have to send whatever it is you do have on hand. (Sorry, I don't make the rules. You should have been better prepared.)

Address the envelope to:

Tommy and Amy Jones

934 Carro Dr. Apt 3

Sacramento, CA 95825

The first two bucks cash has already been received, as last night I hit up my home teacher while he was here. So the pump is primed. Who's gonna be next?

Paypal

If you prefer using Paypal, you can transfer the money directly to my Paypal account, and I'll see that the Jones family gets it.

Go into your paypal account and click on the “Send Money” tab near the top. Enter my email address which is Rockwaterman@gmail.com

Now, this next step is important: The open tab reads “Purchases.” Click the other one, the one that says “Personal.” If you don't do that, Paypal will charge a transaction fee, and you don't want that. Click Personal, then “Cash Advance.”

Don't Be Afraid To Spread The Word

My October 31st post garnered an astonishing ten thousand hits before November was half over, but that was an admittedly extraordinary topic and I don't expect to see that many readers again. Since this post I'm writing now is off topic, it may not get very widely circulated. But even if it sees only a couple of thousand hits, that's no small bananas. We can still make a big difference in these worthy people's lives.

One reason the October topic did so well was because 572 people shared the link to that article on Facebook. Think of the impact we could have if some of you were to repost this link with a heading such as “Would you give two dollars to these people?”

You Can't Feel Love When You're Feeling Judgmental

There is a very good reason Jesus taught us not to judge people and situations we know nothing about. Unrighteous judgment prevents us from obeying the great commandment that we love one another. It simply is not possible to love anyone while holding them in judgment. Judgment chases out love. The two cannot co-exist in your heart simultaneously.

Dozens of strangers may have judged Tommy and Amy without cause, but we can erase all that hurt by showing them there are thousands of other strangers out there who love them.

Thank you all for the good you are about to do. I'll report the results here on Christmas morning.

*****

Afterword: The Balloon Incident

One more story before I go.

Many people believe that the spirit of a departed person continues to hang around until the body is in the grave. I'm one of those people.

At the conclusion of Jesse's graveside service, after Jesse's casket had been lowered into the ground and the cover placed over it, Jesse's weeping mother, Jessica, released a handful of helium balloons into the air. This was to symbolize the letting go, the release of Jesse into the arms of God.

But it went horribly wrong. A sudden gust of wind carried the balloons straight up and smack into the high branches of a nearby tree. The balloons stuck there, strings and branches tangled together. There was no way those balloons would be breaking free and flying off. It was an awful disappointment.

Or so I thought.

I was later told by family members that after a family get together on Jesse's birthday a couple of months back, Jesse had taken a handful of helium balloons out to the front yard and let them go. The wind immediately blew them smack into the branches of a high tree. There was no way those balloons would be breaking free and flying off.

So when the same thing happened at Jesse's grave site, it was taken by his loved ones as a sweet sign from the mischievous boy. "Jesse isn't gone," said his mother, Jessica, "He's still watching over us."